Time stopped being measured in days.
After the first week, even pain lost its meaning.
For three full weeks, the world became a corridor of shattered land and endless motion. Morning began with sore muscles and burning lungs. Night ended with bodies collapsing wherever they stood, eyes closing for minutes—never hours—before Lunaria's calm voice dragged them back to their feet.
Run.
Chase.
Adapt.
Repeat.
By the second week, the land around their route no longer resembled terrain—it resembled a wound. Valleys had deepened into ravines from repeated impacts. Hills were flattened into smooth plains of crushed stone. Rivers had changed course after being displaced again and again by shockwaves.
Cities avoided the area entirely.
People whispered about it.
A place where gods run.
Ash's body changed first.
His stride became quiet.
Not weaker—cleaner.
Where once his steps detonated the ground, now they compressed it, releasing force only when needed. His breathing synced perfectly with his mana flow, pulse steady even at speeds that once tore muscle apart.
Kael followed in his own way—louder, heavier, but terrifyingly stable. His momentum became relentless, like a rolling disaster that could not be stopped once it began. He laughed less now, focus sharpening into something dangerous.
Riven stopped bleeding.
That alone terrified the others.
His aura condensed so tightly it barely leaked, his speed arriving in sudden, violent bursts that erased distance in heartbeats. He learned how to vanish mid-run—reappearing hundreds of meters ahead with a grin that bordered on feral.
Juno changed the most subtly.
He learned how to borrow the world.
Wind resistance became traction. Shockwaves became stepping stones. He ran not against the terrain, but with it, sliding through broken space like water finding cracks.
Lunaria watched them all.
He never praised.
Never slowed.
Never turned back.
Until the third week's final day.
They ran from sunrise to sunset, chasing Lunaria across a canyon wide enough to swallow cities. He leapt first, clearing it in a single, impossible stride.
Ash followed.
Then Kael.
Then Riven.
Then Juno.
When they landed together on the other side—no stumbles, no delay—the air itself seemed to pause.
Lunaria slowed.
Just slightly.
The fourth week began without announcement.
No new rules.
No harsher conditions.
Just speed.
They noticed it an hour in.
The distance between them and Lunaria… wasn't growing.
Ash frowned mid-run, eyes narrowing.
"He's not pulling away."
Kael growled. "Don't jinx it."
They pushed harder.
So did Lunaria.
The land screamed beneath them.
Mountains ahead shattered not from impact, but from pressure—stone crumbling into brick-sized fragments that rained down like hail. Forests were reduced to drifting dust clouds. The sky warped from heat and motion.
And still—
They stayed with him.
Ash adjusted instinctively, cutting a fraction of wasted movement.
Kael leaned forward, momentum locking in.
Riven laughed—sharp, delighted.
Juno's eyes widened.
They were running beside Lunaria now.
Not behind.
Not chasing.
Matching.
For the first time since this training began, Lunaria turned his head while running.
He looked at them.
Really looked.
And smiled.
That smile hit harder than any shockwave.
They ran together across a plateau of white stone, footsteps striking in near-perfect rhythm. Four hunters and the one who had dragged them forward—moving like parts of a single mechanism.
When Lunaria finally stopped, they stopped with him.
No collapse.
No gasping.
Just steam rising from their bodies and the low hum of mana settling.
Ash straightened first. "We matched you."
Kael let out a slow breath. "Took long enough."
Riven wiped sweat from his brow, grin wide. "Say it."
Juno crossed his arms, trying—and failing—to hide his pride.
Lunaria faced them, silver hair fluttering in the wind, eyes bright.
"You didn't just match my speed," he said calmly.
He gestured behind them—toward the broken horizon, the ruined world that bore witness to their progress.
"You learned how to move without destroying yourselves."
He stepped closer.
"That's what separates hunters from monsters."
Silence followed.
Not awkward.
Earned.
Ash finally spoke, voice quiet but steady. "What now?"
Lunaria turned back toward the distant skyline—toward the city waiting ahead, toward whatever future was foolish enough to challenge them.
"Now," he said, "we start running toward something."
The wind howled across the scarred land.
And for the first time, it struggled to keep up.